One Is The Loneliest Number
by AHumblePen
Summary: Heavy rains force a bad accident on a country backroad...


Johnny sat alone 

Note to Reader: Because this story highlights several flashback sessions, I have tried to employ different transitioning techniques and the ilk to make clear what is flashback and what is `present' time. `~*~' indicates a major passage of time- a large chunk of hours, a few days, weeks, etc. It also precedes and follows flashbacks, which are written in italics. A simple `*' indicates what would amount to a scene change, with little or no time lost between the scenes. 

One Is The Loneliest Number 

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I ask of you a very simple question 

Do you think for one minute that you are alone 

And is your suffering a privilege you share only 

Or did you think that everybody else feels completely at home? 

I hope for you and cannot stop at hoping 

Until that smile has once again returned to your face 

There's no such thing as a failure who keeps trying 

Coasting to the bottom is the only disgrace. 

--Just Wait, Blues Traveler 

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*Johnny sat alone. Every now and then he got up to look out of the window at Rampart. It was still raining outside. The drops bounced off the window and reflected the light in the room. Anyone looking in wouldn't be able to see which were raindrops and which were tears. He slowly walked back to the table where a now cold cup of coffee waited for him. He could still smell the smoke and his clothes still wore the small splatters of blood. The darkness outside reminded him it was late. He should feel tired, but he didn't. He didn't want to fall asleep and risk dreaming about the events of tonight and see Roy's face again. The horror of the sight was bad enough the first time. 

He put his head in his hands and stared at the floor thinking of what he had done. Did he do the right thing? Did he make the right decision? No answers were forthcoming. If Roy should die, he would have to tell Joanne. It would be his fault if Roy did die and the responsibility would fall to him. Or would he have to tell her that her husband would never be the same? That, for Roy, would be worse than death. The only thought that kept repeating to him was it was all his fault. Over and over. There was nowhere to go or look without hearing that. 

He heard the click of the doorknob turning. Light suddenly illuminated the room. Out of the shadows, he saw a woman's form in white. As his eyes adjusted, he could see Dixie. 

Johnny jumped up and walked toward her. He wanted to ask how Roy and the others were and at the same time he didn't want to know. The words wouldn't come. As he came closer, her face came into focus. His own exhaustion stopped him from running to her. 

"How's Roy?" His voice quivered... he didn't trust it enough to ask the other question. He just looked up at Dixie and waited, fearing what her answer would be.*Dixie McCall studied John Gage's face carefully, lining her answer up as best she could. Johnny was a good friend, and right now his face was so filled with frightened hope that she only wished that she could laugh, wave a hand, and tell him that everyone was going to be just fine. But she owed this man the truth, as painful as it might be for him. She bowed her head ever so slightly, looking at Johnny from under her heavy black eyelashes. "Well….he's stabilized….and critical. He's still in the coma, and he's not out of the woods yet….but Kel thinks that he's going to pull through." 

Dixie watched as Johnny backed up slowly, found the windowsill with the backs of his legs, and then leaned heavily against it. He sighed, but Dixie could see that he only let out a fraction of the tension he was harboring. "Is he going to get better?" The last word was carefully enunciated- there was no way Dixie could misinterpret what Johnny meant. 

Dixie couldn't even look up through her eyelashes to deliver the answer to this question. Instead, she fixed her gaze on a particularly dull spot on the floor. "We can't tell yet, Johnny. The metal did actually break his skull, but it doesn't look like it did a lot of damage to his brain. We're sure there's no damage to his eye itself, but until he wakes up, there's no way of knowing whether or not it still works. We're just going to have to wait and see." 

Dixie looked up in time to see Johnny close his eyes sharply against the tears that she knew would be threatening him. He nodded, silent for a moment, and ran a hand through his hair slowly. "What about the others?" He finally managed, his voice low and husky with the emotions he was fighting. 

"Better news," Dixie tried to make her voice light, in hopes of cheering Johnny what little amount she could. "Hank's doing very well, Joe thinks that we'll be able to release him in the morning after he stays for observation. Both of Marco's legs are broken, but they're clean breaks, and he'll be out of here as soon as he can get around on his own." 

"That's….that's great, Dix." She could tell that Johnny wanted his voice to sound more enthusiastic than it did, but he just couldn't force it. His head dipped a little lower, and for a long moment, an awkward silence hung between the two. Dixie shifted her weight, watching John carefully. Yes, she did have duties to attend to, but they could wait until she was sure she'd done all that she could for the paramedic before her. 

"It's all my fault." He whispered softly. It wasn't obvious that Johnny'd meant for Dixie to hear his comment, but with the way it hung in the silence, she couldn't help but hear it. 

And she couldn't help but contradict him. Dixie knew she sounded harsh, but sometimes this man took a little shock to realize things. She did, however, almost wince at how maternal she sounded. "John Roderick Gage! How could you even let such a thing pass through your mind? It's not your fault at all!" 

Johnny's head came up sharply, the tears now flowing freely down his face once again. "Of course it's my fault, Dixie! I was the one driving the Squad! I should have let Roy drive- I'm not used to driving it, it was slick and dark, I was tired…! He's better at driving it, he was more awake, he would have seen…..He could have reacted better…" He bent his head down again, covering his face with both his hands and supporting them on his knees. Dixie could hear him try to choke back his fear and his sadness, but she could see from the way his lanky shoulders worked that he wasn't successful. 

She took a step towards him, trying to make her voice gently stern. "There was no way for you to know that there was a mudslide up the road. There was no way for you to know the squad would flip the way it did. There was nothing you could have done differently- if it had been Roy driving, it would have been you with the piece of doorframe through your head." 

"It should have been me." Johnny mumbled behind his hands, and then pulled them away from his face slowly to look at Dixie. His dark eyes were haunted, filled with grief and guilt that he couldn't place on someone else. "What if it turns out there's damage because I moved him? What if he would have been fine if I had waited for Chet and Mike?" 

"Then you, Roy, Cap, and Marco all would be buried in the mud back there at the canyon. You did all that you could." Dixie shook her head slowly, unable to comfort the paramedic further. 

"Well, that wasn't enough, dammit!!" Johnny rocked off of the windowsill, and brought both hands onto the table that was between the two so hard that the coffee mug shot up, and slid off the ground. Luckily, it was Styrofoam, and not ceramic, so the only result was cold coffee spilling out onto the floor during the awkward silence. 

Dixie bowed her head a little, and nodded. "I think you should get some rest, Johnny." 

Johnny nodded, as well, in mute acknowledgement, and collapsed against the table slightly. "I'll….just stay here…if it's okay…" 

"Yes, John, it's fine. I'll let Dispatch know that you won't be working for a while, okay? But I have to get back to work." Dixie paused in the doorway, turning back to watch Johnny before flipping the light off. 

"Thank you, Dix." The whispered words chased her out of the dark room. 

~*~~*~~*~ 

~ The rain was intense, and it had been for hours. Long ago, the six firemen of 51s A-shift had given up trying to hose down the remains of the building that had been burning with any sort of regularity, and had instead focused their attentions on getting out of the canyon area. 

The ambulance had left with the couple who had owned the house before it burnt down, and hadn't required any sort of paramedic escort. That had turned out to be lucky, because that meant that both Johnny and Roy were present and able to help when a falling timber trapped Marco, breaking his left leg cleanly at the femur. The nearest ambulance's ETA was an hour and fifteen minutes, so it was decided that Marco would be better off riding on the back of the squad. 

John Gage shook his head rapidly to rid his hair of the excess water- like usual, he'd somehow managed to lose his helmet during the operation. He was pretty confident that it had been while they were struggling to free Marco, but he never could be entirely sure. Then, with a rueful smile, he looked to his taller, commanding officer. "Well…?" 

"Yeah, John, you're right." With a tired snort, Hank turned and beckoned both John's partner, Roy, and the engineer Mike Stoker over. "Look, guys, Johnny's got a point. In this kind of rain, it's going to take two people for each vehicle to drive us out of here, but somebody's got to be up there with Marco. Mike, do you think you and Chet can handle the engine alone?" The older Captain smiled at Stoker's silent, but confident, nod. "Okay, great. Roy, John? You two drive the squad, and I'll ride on the back with Marco." 

As the men turned to their respective duties, Roy held the keys to the squad out by two fingers towards Johnny. "You wanna drive?" 

Johnny reached for the keys, but paused, nodding his head towards Roy. "You sure?" Roy didn't offer to let Johnny drive that often, and the younger paramedic intended to optimize his driving time. 

Roy nodded and tossed the keys to Johnny, smiling tiredly, and circled around the front of the squad to the passenger's side. "I'm sure. I think you've got more left in you than I do. It's a better idea for you to drive since you're more awake." 

Johnny wasn't at all sure that he was less tired than Roy, but when the older man made decisions like that, he was almost always right. Johnny climbed into the driver's side and made the necessary seat and mirror adjustments to allow for his height. Then he rolled down the window and stuck his head out, shouting to be heard over the engine noise and pounding rain. "You ready back there, Cap?" 

A few seconds later, Cap's disembodied, strained voice floated back to Johnny's ears. "Yeah, pal, go ahead." 

Leaving the window partially open so that he could hear if Marco or Cap needed help, Johnny flipped the ignition over and moved along the road carefully. He could feel the Ward's heavy rumble more than hear it as Mike followed behind. 

The roads leading to this canyon weren't paved- most of the country roads outside of LA weren't. The torrential rain had turned what was usually a tightly packed dirt road into muddy soup with sheetrock beneath. Several times, the squad struggled against the steering, and it took a good bit of Johnny's remaining strength to fight it back onto the road. 

The rain blurred against the windshield as Johnny took the sharp turn in the road, distorting the images that played by. He found it a challenge to distinguish the sides of the road from the surrounding landscape, so he simply tried to steer right down the middle, and forgot completely about being in `his lane.' He suspected no one else would be fool enough to drive in this weather anyway. 

"Johnny…!" Roy pointed out the windshield, only able to get his partner's name out in any sort of warning. The road ahead had been washed out completely by the rain- a victim of a mudslide that had obviously started uphill and swept across the ledge, taking the road with it. All that was left was a massive hole that must have been twice the size of the engine. 

It wasn't that Johnny'd been speeding- he would have been an idiot to be. In fact, it was a generous estimate if he'd been going thirty miles an hour. But his speed was just enough that when he slammed on the breaks, wrenching the wheel to one side, the massive vehicle was sent into a skid. Teeth gritted together, Johnny could do nothing as he felt the squad continue to move towards the hole. He'd lost control of the truck, and now his white knuckles where just to keep him as steady as possible as they went down. The squad tilted over onto two wheels, strained, and Johnny watched with horror as Captain Stanley flew down off the back past his still-open window. The young paramedic could hear the screams of four voices- Cap's, Marco's, Roy's, and his own hoarse voice. There was terror in those screams. 

Just as the squad, groaning in the agony of misused metal, went over the edge, Johnny struck his head sharply on the steering wheel that no longer had any utility, and passed into what could be considered a merciful unconsciousness. ~ 

~*~~*~~*~ 

"John?" The heavy, rumbling voice snapped the paramedic out of the half-sleep of his recent memories. Lifting his head from the cradle of his hands, Johnny blinked to bring Doctor Kelly Brackett into focus. 

"Yeah, Doc?" Johnny himself was surprised at the gravelly sound of his own voice, and he hadn't expected much. He could see the mild shock flicker across Brackett's face before the professionalism kicked in. 

The other man's head bowed a little, and he looked at Johnny through slightly squinted eyes in an expression Johnny'd come to recognize as `not-great-news.' His dark eyes must have shown his recognition of said expression, because Brackett started out his sentence with reassurance and not the news Johnny figured he needed to deliver. "Don't worry, Gage, Roy's stable. It's just that he's lost a lot of blood, and we're running a little low. Since you're O positive, and we already have the consent form…" Kel trailed off and spread his hands in explanation. 

"Yeah, sure, I'll help out." Johnny forced himself into a standing position with a groan. "As long as I get a bed to crash in afterwards." 

Brackett's smile was strained- he'd had a rough night already. "I think we can arrange that. In fact, I think we can get you and Roy the same room." 

Johnny's exhaustion kept him from understanding, and his long face creased with the confusion as he looked up at Brackett. "What?" 

Brackett looked at Johnny for a long moment before explaining. "We can't let you go back to work in this condition. You're physically exhausted, emotionally drained and unstable…" 

"I'm not unstable!" The young man half-shouted at his friend, and immediately realized the absurdity of the statement. Of course he was unstable. He may have permanently damaged his best friend. Who wouldn't be unstable? 

Dr. Brackett waited for a moment to be sure that Johnny was finished before continuing in a slightly firmer tone. "Since you are emotionally drained and unstable, and will be even more physically tapped and incapable after you give blood, we'll have to keep you here for I'd say…oh….a good forty-eight hours." 

Johnny's head snapped up sharply, which he regretted immensely once he completed the action, and he frowned at Brackett deeply. "Forty-eight hours? Like two whole days? Why?" 

Brackett smiled a little as he held to door open for the paramedic before him. "Do you want the official reason or the real one?" 

"Both." Johnny said slowly as he moved towards the door, taking Brackett's obvious invitation to get the blood-transfer process started. 

"Well. The official reason is that you've suffered severe emotional and physical trauma, and will soon be experiencing significant controlled blood loss. We feel that you will need at least forty-eight hours to recuperate to a working ability again." Brackett's tone made it obvious that he was mocking the explanation's officiality, and coming from such a generally straight-arrow man, it was humorous. 

Johnny chuckled a little as Kel led him down the hall to the ICU room they'd put Roy in. "So, what's the real reason, then?" 

Brackett's smile somewhat more sincere than it had been earlier. "McConnike called us and informed us that he wouldn't let you back into the Station for a minimum of forty-eight hours, and it was probably wise if we kept you close to Roy." 

This time, Johnny actually laughed out loud. "Yeah, that sounds like Chief. I appreciate it." 

Brackett pushed the door to the ICU open, and motioned for Johnny to enter first. "The least we can do for the sanity for one of the best firestations in LA." 

John sucked in his breath all at once as soon as his eyes fell on Roy. He'd seen his partner at the scene of the accident, and he'd seen hundreds of people with varying degrees of injuries, but somehow he could never get over the shock of seeing Roy injured seriously. 

The surgery had greatly improved the senior paramedic's outward appearance. He was no longer bloody, although he was swathed in bandages from his cheeks up, with small breaks to allow for Roy's closed eyes, and it was evident that some of his hair had been shaved away for cleaner surgery. The biggest improvement on his appearance, however, was the fact that he no longer had a piece of metal protruding unnaturally from his head. 

Johnny swallowed heavily, and forced himself to sit on the bed that had been left vacant next to Roy. Brackett smiled wanly, and hovered for a second. "You get some rest, Johnny. I'll have Dix and Carol in here in a few to set up the blood transfer, okay?" 

Johnny nodded slowly, swinging his legs around so that he was lying on top of the covers on the bed. "Okay, Doc. I'll just close my eyes here…" 

~*~~*~~*~ 

~ The first thing John Gage became aware of was the sound of rain. It thundered against the roof, and soon he realized that it was sheeting in on him from his left side. He was soaked. As he snapped his eyes open, he remembered all too vividly that the squad had rolled in the middle of the road, into a hole created by a mudslide that had been a result of this self same rain that pounded through the window. This memory brought immediate and intense concern for his crewmates. For Cap, who he'd seen fall past the window as the squad flipped, for Marco, who he hadn't seen fall, and was possibly still trapped somewhere on the squad. But he was concerned about Roy the most. After a minimal assessment of himself, he decided that he had no spinal injuries, and snapped his head towards the seat next to him. 

The sight that greeted his eyes was one that Johnny never wanted to see, and would never forget. The right side of Roy's face was literally coated in blood, the red fluid pushing back his hair in strange positions. The window had shattered, and pieces of the doorframe come loose from the squad itself. The glass had badly lacerated Roy's face, but the doorframe had actually punctured it- Johnny could see the thin bar of metal protruding from just under the eye of Roy's right side, and he could see the other end of the bar exiting from just above Roy's ear. 

"Oh my God, Roy!" Johnny found himself saying, although he knew that his partner was unconscious, and couldn't hear him. After the moment of shock had set in and passed, the paramedic in Johnny snapped into action. With a numb practice, Johnny checked Roy over for injuries aside from the obvious trauma to the slightly older man's head. 

Johnny decided quickly that Roy's only injuries were the ones that had been inflicted upon his head, but those injuries were more than enough to keep Johnny both occupied and worried. Long, deft fingers searched gently along the back end of the piece of doorframe, and found that it had been separated from the door completely. That was good, because it meant Johnny could move Roy now without causing the damage that removing the metal would bring. 

"Damn.." Johnny hissed, kicking at the driver's side door that refused to open. Finally, with one well-placed blow to its low quarter paneling, the door popped free of the squad. Immediately, mud began oozing in around Johnny's feet, and it was then that the paramedic realized the large red truck was slowly sinking. 

Johnny wiped his soaked brow with an equally soaked sleeve, and managed to maneuver Roy so that he was lined up with the door. Then, with the broken door for leverage, Johnny carefully pulled his partner from the wreckage of the squad, and struggled with him up to more firm ground. He was forced to lay Roy on his side to prevent movement of the bar. Just as he cast about to find something to hold Roy in place so that he could return to the dying squad, Mike and Chet jogged up. Both men paled at seeing the state Roy was in. 

"Holy...!" The tall and lanky engineer couldn't even finish the phrase as he stared down at the two paramedics. His mouth worked blindly for a few minutes, and finally he seemed to snap back into a professional mode. "We found Cap in the road, and he's back at the engine. Shook up, a little confused, but he looks okay… what do you want us to do?" 

Looks like I'm in charge. John thought grimly, and squinted up at Mike through the rain. "I need you to hold Roy just like this. We can't move him or else that bar will do a hell of a lot more damage than it already has. Marco's still down there. Chet? Can you grab the porta-power and get down there to help me?" 

Chet nodded distantly, and spun around to break off in a run towards the engine. Mike squatted down silently and held Roy on his side with carefully placed, but firm hands. As soon as Johnny was sure Roy wasn't moving, he half-leapt back towards the hole the squad was sinking in, yelling. "MARCO! MARCO, WHERE ARE YOU, PAL?" 

"DOWN HERE, JOHNNY! IT'S GOT MY LEG!" The Latino man's voice echoed from the back, right side of the squad. Giving silent thanks for compartments that went all the way through, Johnny opened the left side doors that were still accessible, quickly removed the drug box, trauma kit, and oxygen, setting them on the highest part of the squad he could find. Then he clambered over the cumbersome truck to find Marco. 

The firefighter's good leg had been trapped under the squad as it rolled, and Johnny was positive from the way Marco lay that this leg, too, was broken. Marco's face was twisted in pain and distorted by the heavy rain, his teeth ground together fiercely, but he managed a very thin smile for the paramedic. "Stupid thing….got my good leg…what happened?" 

Johnny's trained eyes took in Marco's predicament easily, and he began searching delicately through the mud below the squad. He found what he was looking for just as Chet slid to a stop beside him with the porta-power. "Okay, Chet, here's what we've gotta do. There's a rock under there. You gotta brace the porta-power against that, and jack the squad up while I pull Marco free. Marco, man, I just want you to go limp, and let me do all the work. Okay?" 

"Right." The two other men said in near-unison. Without any further instructions, and none needed, Chet began to jack the squad up slowly, as best he was able, with the porta-power. 

Johnny managed to pull Marco out from beneath the squad within a minute. By this time, he was almost knee-deep in mud. Pulling one leg free with a long and warped sucking sound, Johnny called to Chet. "Forget the Squad and the porta-power! I need you to get as much of the gear as you can and we have to get out of here!" 

Chet nodded mutely through the rain at Johnny. Taking the motion as an acknowledgement, the young paramedic slung Marco over his shoulder, grabbed the drug box, and fought his way up the side of the hole to where he'd left Mike and Roy. Chet appeared moments later with the biophone, oxygen, the scope and the defibrillator. Johnny wondered how Chet had managed to carry it all. 

"I need to splint Marco's leg. Then I need to do all I can for Roy. Can one of you call for a helicopter or something? We're never gonna get Roy out of here in the engine." Johnny was surprised at how calm he sounded considering what was going on. Chet dropped all of the paramedics' equipment in a tangled pile at Johnny's feet, and pounded through the rain to the engine and the mike-radio that the cab held. 

Marco and Mike both watched with vague, macabre interest as Johnny sorted through the drug box. He managed to produce a long, thin splint similar to the one that was already wrapped around Marco's left leg and a large wad of gauze. The young paramedic shook his head in a useless attempt to sheet the water away from his eyes, and ran his fingers down the length of Marco's right shin, realigning the bones with a gentle force. Marco bit his tongue and hissed with the pain. 

"Don't worry, Marco, buddy, I've got you." Johnny had meant for the words to be encouraging, but they'd come out flat, dead. After all, it was his fault that this had happened. 

The thought hit him like a freight train, and froze his hand as he reached to straighten the splint. For a moment, the dark-haired man felt as if we were being pressed with a weight thousands of times greater than his own, and he half-choked on his own saliva. Then he closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and finished the job on Marco's leg. Whether or not it was his fault, there was work here to be done that only he could do. His dark eyes held a sudden, hollow hauntedness as he brandished an ampoule at Marco briefly. 

"For the pain." Johnny explained. A squirt of morphine was lost in the rain as he pushed the air out of the small hypodermic needle. Marco nodded, watching as Johnny slid the needle into his arm, discharged it, then pulled it out, broke its tip, and threw it back into the drug box. The smile that passed between them before Johnny slid over to work on Roy was dull, half-lifed. 

Mike had seen the change in Johnny, and dipped his head as Gage began to pull rolls of gauze and packs of pressure bandages out of the drugbox. "Are you okay, John?" 

"No." Johnny answered honestly, checking Roy's pulse before he began to bandage the man. "I mean….this….this is my partner, you know. And I…I was driving. It's like it's my fault." The long, tan fingers worked lightly, delicately to place the pressure bandages around the metal's entry and exit sites. 

"It's not your fault, Johnny. Anybody could have hit that hole." Mike's voice was low as he held Roy still, watching Johnny's every move with sharp blue eyes as if he would need to draw it at a later time. 

Johnny looked up at Mike darkly as he unrolled the gauze. "That's the point, though. It wasn't anybody. It was me. I'm his partner. I'm supposed to be looking out for him." The lanky man broke the gauze with more force then was necessary, and began wrapping it around the metal bar and Roy's head to keep the bar in place. His tone of voice made it obvious he wasn't going to discuss it anymore. 

Chet jogged back from the engine, his heavy boots making ragged holes in the mire that had once been a road. "The `copter's coming. LA says the storm's letting up, and the `copter shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get to us." The rain shuddered off of the stocky man's shoulders as he shrugged. "I don't know where he's gonna land though." 

Johnny tied off the gauze, looked up at Mike, and then at Chet. "We're gonna need both stokes. Do you think you can get to them?" 

Chet nodded brusquely, and disappeared over the edge of the hole again like an oversized groundhog. Mere moments later, he reappeared, decidedly more muddy but with a cumbersome stokes in each hand. 

"Okay Mike, Chet, help me get Roy strapped into the first one. We gotta be careful though, and make sure his head does not move." At Johnny's grunted instructions, they got the unconscious paramedic cautiously loaded and strapped in securely. Without even waiting for instructions, Mike and Chet moved to the side to put Marco into the second stokes. 

Johnny squatted next to his partner, shoulders hunched against the onslaught of the storm. In the first moment of stillness since he regained consciousness, Johnny realized that he was soaked through to the skin despite the heavy turnout. He now that he had time to kill waiting, he began to shiver, lightly at first, but with a growing force. He rocked back on his heels a little to prevent himself from jarring the stokes, and watched Roy carefully. If his partner died, he didn't know what he'd do- he'd probably have to quit the paramedic program, the fire department entirely. Johnny didn't know that he was really qualified to do anything else. And if his partner died, it would be his fault. 

His long face, etched with pain and streaked with water that wasn't entirely rain, raised slowly against the clouds as the approaching thump of helicopter blades echoed in the distance. ~ 

~*~~*~ ~*~ 

This time it was the sound of the door clicking open that drew John out of his tortured quasi sleep. Blurry, red rimmed eyes traced over the forms of Nurses Dixie McCall and Carol Tannings as they entered the room with a cart full of supplies between them. He saw both women's eyes flicker to Roy, and he saw them both put on a mask of forced cheerfulness for his sake. If he'd been a little more alert, and a little less tired, it might have irritated Johnny. But now, he appreciated the efforts they were making for him. 

"Hey, Johnny." Dixie started, her voice low. "We need to get that transfusion started…" 

"Yeah, I know." Gage sat up slowly, swinging his legs around so that he could sit on the side of the bed half-comfortably. He pushed up his shirtsleeve on his left arm, staring at the crook of his elbow so that he didn't have to look at the experiment in hospital equipment that Roy'd become. That should be me. His subconscious growled at him before he could silence it. 

Dixie sat down on the bed beside him, dabbing half-heartedly at his elbow with an alcohol swab. "Speaking of knowing- does Joanne?" 

Guilty brown eyes flickered to Roy, and then up to meet Dixie's face. "No." 

"She has a right to know, John." Dixie's voice was low as she motioned to Carol. The younger nurse maneuvered the blood transfusion apparatus between Johnny's bed and Roy's carefully. 

Johnny nodded slowly, watching detachedly as Dixie drew the long hypodermic used for inserting deep IVs out of the machine. "I know, Dix. It's just…" He broke his sentence off, squinting as the needle's tip blurred in defiance of his direct order for it to stay focused. 

"Just what, Johnny?" The hypodermic bit into the soft muscle of the inside of his elbow, and the pain was just enough to release the tears he'd been fighting back. Dixie smiled sadly at him, and reached up to push the tears off of his cheekbones before she taped the IV tubing. 

"It's hard, Dix!" Johnny finally managed, pounding his right hand uselessly against his leg. "What am I supposed to say? `Oh, Hello Joanne, how are you? How are the kids? Oh, and just by the way, your husband's in a coma at Rampart because I'm a stupid shit and rolled the squad and a piece of it went through his head. Just thought you might want to know.'" 

"John." Dixie chided, pinching his leg sharply. She rose, beginning to attach his IV to the apparatus, every so often turning to look back at him. "And you think it's better for her to learn about it on the evening news? She won't blame you." 

"I don't see why not. I already do." He looked away from Rampart's Head Nurse, no longer feeling up for her chastising. Maybe it was because he knew she was right. With a long sigh, he settled back down into a laying position, hanging his left arm off of the bed's edge. 

Dixie was just out of his field of vision when she turned the transfusion machine on, but Johnny didn't have to ask what it was. With a soft thunk and a whirr, the machine groaned to life, and Johnny could see the thick IV in his left arm slowly fill with a sticky, dark red. It stuck him, dimly, that he no longer felt the IVs once they were in. Carol came around to his right side, and set up a drip of Ringer's through the back of his right hand. Now effectively blocked into the bed, he leaned back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling. 

"Do you want me to tell Joanne?" Dixie asked quietly. She'd moved to the other side of the room, setting up the other end of the transfusion into the IVs and tubes already running into Roy's body. But somehow, she seemed much farther away. 

Johnny sighed heavily, deep brown eyes tracing over the cracks in the ceiling plaster. "N….Yeah, Dix. I think it would be better..if you did." 

"Okay." The nurse said quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, Johnny saw her straighten, finished with the task at hand. 

"And Dix..?" 

"Yeah, Johnny?" 

"Tell her….that I'm sorry…" Johnny said slowly, closing his eyes again. There was an emptiness inside him, a hole many times greater than the hole that had done this to him. It was gnawing at him, pulling at his soul. There were so many things that he wanted Dixie to tell Joanne, so many things that he wanted to tell her himself. But there simply weren't words for them. `I'm sorry' was all he could come up with, and it was pretty empty. He opened his eyes wearily, although he wasn't sure why. There wasn't really anything he wanted to see. 

Dixie nodded at him, smiling wanly. "Okay, Johnny." Then, with a gentle hand on Carol's shoulder, the head nurse led her out of the room. "I'll check in on you later to shut the machine off." 

The machines that filled the other half of the room thrummed and beeped with a mechanized rhythm all their own. Their exact evenness was beginning to drive him insane, each methodical click and blip another reminder of what a colossal mess he'd made of things. 

He shouldn't have been driving. He should have refused, flat out, right there when Roy offered. He should have known better. He should have anticipated the mudslide. So many `he should have's, none of which he actually acted on. 

The sounds were slowly forcing him closer to the edge of his sanity. Johnny sat up slowly, and watched Roy from across the room. All your fault. His subconscious felt the need to remind him of this yet again. It was tearing him apart. Leaning forward, the lanky young man removed the IV from its tree and held it in his right hand, only slightly higher than the caphider. Then, with a lurching half-leap, he stumbled across the room to the side of his partner's bed. Johnny stood there a moment, with his head slightly tilted, examining every tiny detail of the tubes and the lines running into, out of, over Roy's body. 

It was then that Johnny finally broke the last of his reserves. Crumpling at the knees like a wounded deer, he fell against Roy's chest with loud and ragged sobs. "Oh, God, Roy, I'm so sorry. I….I was so stupid. I should have done better. Roy…you gotta get better, man. You gotta. Think about Joanne. And Chris and Jenny. They need you. I can't take care of them. I mean, look how well I took care of you. I…I don't know what'll happen if you don't get better. It'll…it'll be like I killed you…I…" 

Johnny bowed his head slowly, pressing his forehead gently against his friend's ribcage, as he came to yet another horrid, startling realization. "I have your blood on my hands." Gage pulled his hands up beside his face, rubbing the long fingers together as if the motion would take away his guilt. He closed his eyes, still twisting his hands together with the apparent intention to wrench them off his arms completely. He murmured again in a soft, broken voice. "Forgive me, Roy. I have your blood on my hands." 

*** 

"What are we going to do?" Doctor Kelly Brackett rubbed gently at his temples, leaning on the table in the Doctor's Lounge with both elbows. "What are we going to do?" The repetition didn't make the answer to the question any more obvious. 

"I don't know, Kel." From across the room, Brackett's colleague Joe Early leaned against the counter, coffee mug in hand. "I guess we'll just have to wait for Roy to wake up." 

"It's driving Johnny insane!" Brackett's voice rose in irritation, and he stopped rubbing his temples to smack his hands, palm down, on the table. With a heavy sigh, the dark-haired man went back to massaging the sides of his head, this time with more vigor. "It's driving me insane." His voice was lower, more subdued. 

"It's wearing on us all, Kel. But we've done all that we can." Early was always the voice of reason. Calm, cool, and collected, the gentle doctor with the silver hair rarely became as agitated over circumstances as Brackett did. "There's nothing now that we can do except monitor Roy and hope that he wakes up." 

Brackett made a decidedly disgusted noise. "There has to be more…." He stared intently at the table he was leaning on. As if the tattered Formica would give him the answers he needed. 

Early moved from his spot against the counter to sit across the table from Brackett. He set his coffee mug down, and stared level at the younger man. "What do you think his chances are, Kel?" 

"Who, DeSoto or Gage?" 

"Both." Joe's face touched with a bitter smile. 

Brackett looked up, his face falling more placid as he slid into a more professional mode. "Well, I think that if we can get Roy to regain consciousness, we'll have more ability to determine exactly how much damage has been done. From what I saw during surgery? I think he's got a good chance. But if he doesn't make it, I think Gage'll go over the edge. I mean really over the edge. He has it in his head that it's his fault that this all happened." 

Early frowned a little. "How does he figure?" 

"He expects to be superhuman, Joe. He expects that he should have been able to sense the hole. He thinks it's his fault because he was driving." Brackett paused in his speech a minute, and then exploded again with his fists against the table. "Dammit, Joe! There's got to be more we can do!" 

"Looks like John isn't the only one who thinks he's superhuman." Early said quietly, rising again from the table. "Do you want some coffee?" 

Brackett opened his mouth slowly to respond, but turned as he heard the door to the lounge open. The head of one Firefighter Chet Kelly appeared in the space created. "Are we interrupting?" Behind him, Mike Stoker was just barely visible. 

"Not at all, come on in." Early glanced briefly to Kel before beckoning with his hand. The two firemen entered after a moment's hesitation, an oddly matched pair with Stoker's tall lankiness and Chet's short stockiness. 

"How are they?" Stoker's voice was quiet and seemed high from disuse and not the emotions that actually forced it mildly falsetto. He didn't bother to greet either doctor- he was too concerned with his crewmates' health. 

"Marco and Hank are doing okay. We can take you up to their room if you'd like. Roy….." Kel trailed off for a moment, the frustration evident. "Roy's still in a coma. Johnny's been set up as a blood donor. I don't think it would be advisable for you to see them now…" With a thin smile, Brackett stood from his spot at the table. 

"Can we go up and see Cap and Marco?" Chet's blue eyes flickered between Early and Brackett like an expectant child's. Mike nodded his silent, similar sentiments. 

"Sure." Early said with a sad smile, and motioned for Brackett to lead the way out of the room. "I'm sure they'll be more than happy to see you." 

Sighing, Kel made his way out of the room and towards the elevators at the end of the hall. "They're in a recovery room on the second floor." 

They all filed into the elevator silently, the firefighter's anxiety and concern making the air thick with awkwardness. Brackett led the way to the recovery room as soon as the elevator doors opened, eyebrows corkscrewed in frustration. His mind was still on the situation with DeSoto. It was exasperating that Roy hadn't woken yet. Kel was human, as much as he disliked admitting the fact, and the longer it took for Roy to regain consciousness, the more Kel worried he'd done something wrong in surgery. Brackett was so involved in his own thoughts that Early had to catch his elbow to prevent him from passing the room. 

As the door opened inward into the room, both injured firefighters inside looked up and grinned. Although Hank looked fairly normal sitting upright in his bed, Marco had been strung up like a Christmas goose. Both legs were in shin-to-hip casts, and had been suspended from the ceiling to prevent them from being disturbed. "Hi guys!" The Latino wriggled in his bed to wave at the two men entering. 

"Now, Marco, if you keep wiggling like that, you're going to upset one of your legs and be in here even longer than you need to be." Brackett half-smiled as he ducked across the room to check up on Lopez. "How are you two holding out?" 

"I'm doing just fine, except for Lopez's incredible ability to snore. I don't understand it. It's like since Chet isn't here, Marco feels it's his duty to keep me awake half the night." Stanley spoke with a wide grin as he watched Brackett check Marco over. 

"Hey!" Chet's protests were only half-hearted, but they still existed. 

"He's right, Chet." Marco supplied from across the room. "You snore like a freight train." The tanned firefighter half smiled and half grimaced at his Captain. "You try sleeping next to him sometime." 

"I've had quite enough sleeping next to you, thank you." Hank shot back, curtly, and then turned to face the doctors. "So when are you guys gonna spring me? I really hate hospital gowns." 

Brackett smiled a little, crossing his arms over his chest. "Yes, I know they're just the top of the line in fashion. We're going to hold on to you until the morning, just to make sure something doesn't go wrong with your head injury. Unless you'd like to stay longer?" The doctor's distinct eyebrows rose slightly. 

Stanley waved one arm in the clingy polyester garment and made a face. "I don't want to seem ungrateful for your hospitality, but….no." 

The other men in the room laughed- it was a sort of nervous, higher pitched laugh. Hospitals tended to make those people in them nervous and afraid to laugh. "How're things holding together at the Station?" Hank finally asked of his only two men in working condition. 

"McConnike called and switched us over to B and C-shifts until further notice. Headquarters has crews of overtimers filling in the A-shift spot." Mike spoke up quietly. "He said that if Chet and I wanted some overtime, we could go and get it. But he strongly recommended that we come and see you all." 

Hank nodded a little, and for a while the room was silent. The nervous tension grew, until finally Marco couldn't take it anymore, and voiced the question that was on all of their minds. "How are Roy and John going to be, Doc?" 

Kelly Brackett's head bowed slowly, and he seemed to gain twenty years of age with only one question. His deep voice was quiet as it carried its news to the fireman. "We….we don't know, Marco. It's still anybody's game." 

~*~~*~~*~ 

~ Johnny didn't particularly like helicopters. They were noisy, they jerked and rattled and bounced their passengers around, and they were really only big enough for one gurney. So with two occupied stokes and four firemen crammed into the back of the `copter, it was surprising they hadn't all developed claustrophobia. But, for all of his dislike of them, Johnny didn't hate helicopters like his partner did. 

Roy. The paramedic's dark eyes darted from watching the small window nervously to watching the stokes that carried DeSoto with equal nerve. Johnny would have traded, in a heartbeat, not teasing his partner about the blanched face, white knuckles, and wide eyes that he usually displayed in a `copter for the slightly peaceful facsimile of sleep he now adopted. He would have traded anything. He wanted to hear Roy tell him again that it wasn't that the senior paramedic was afraid of heights. It was that he had a deep and abiding respect for them. 

John turned his attention back to the window, trying to identify the scenery through the lessening rain and decide when they were near to Rampart. He'd made this trip infinite times on the ground, but only a few times in the air. From above, everything looked different. He sighed as he was unable to come up with an ETA at all. 

In the back of his mind, Gage remembered that there were other men in the helicopter- five, precisely, not including the two men in the cockpit who were flying it. He could ask them for an ETA, particularly the pilot or co-pilot, but he simply didn't have the reserve to. He didn't trust his voice entirely, either. 

The rain soaked sage country finally broke away in favor of more populated terrain and in the nearing distance Johnny could see the bulk of buildings that was Rampart. It was probably now only another ten minutes or so until Roy was in the hospital. Leaning over to adjust the drip on the IV bag minutely, Johnny just prayed that ten minutes wasn't too long. 

`Squad 51, what are your patients' statuses?' Under the noise of the `copter blades, the young paramedic could hear Doctor Brackett's voice strain out of the biophone. 

"Rampart, patient number one is still conscious and complaining of pain in both legs. He has been administered 5 milligrams of MS, pulse is 100, BP 110 over 60." From across the cramped `copter body, Marco waved a little languidly. 

"Patient number two is still comatose. Pupils are equal but slow to react to light. BP is 90 over 50, pulse is 80 and thready. The bar has not been moved." Johnny's fingers just brushed over his partner, worried of further damage that might be done if he touched Roy with more force. 

'51, what is your ETA?' Brackett sounded worried. Very worried. 

The pilot heard the transmission and signaled `seven' back to Johnny. The dark-haired man nodded. "Rampart, ETA is seven minutes." 

`We'll meet you on the roof, 51. Have patient number two ready to go first.' 

Johnny watched as the helicopter swung wide to line up with the hospital and still respect the traffic control laws that were enforced over Los Angeles County. Within minutes, the `copter was touching down delicately on the heli-pad on the roof of Rampart General Hospital. 

Johnny was out of the whirlybird long before the pilots had the blades switched off. He spun deliberately, and grabbed the end of the stokes that contained Roy with an even firmness. With Mike's help, he got the metal caging out of the helicopter and onto the first gurney that presented itself to him. Confident that Chet and Mike could sort Hank and Marco into their respective, awaiting wheelchair and gurney, Johnny jogged alongside Roy as the orderlies rushed to get him off of the roof. 

Doctor Brackett met them in the elevator. His experienced eyes took in the situation quickly, and even he couldn't hide the grimace. "Get OR two open, stat." He snapped to the nearest orderly. 

Then, turning slowly, he put a heavy hand on Johnny's shoulder. "We'll do everything possible, John." ~ 

~*~~*~~*~ 

Dixie McCall opened the door to the ICU room, letting Joanne DeSoto in to see her husband. After the call that Dixie had made, Joanne had driven to the hospital in a state of borderline hysteria, and it had taken a good deal of Dixie's professionalism to calm her down. As she entered the room, she could see Roy's partner, John, had fallen asleep leaning on Roy's bed. The room was filled with the whirr of machinery and the nervousness of unknowing.Johnny sat up straight in a sudden, guilty motion as the door opened, and nearly fell over backwards as a result. Clucking at him, Dixie moved to his side and helped him into the bed next to Roy's that he'd started in. Then, with the deftness of a practiced nurse, she shut the blood transfusion machine off and removed the IV from Johnny's arm. "What were you doing out of this bed, John Gage?" 

The paramedic ignored Dixie for the time being. Instead, he was too busy watching Joanne with wide, tearful eyes. "I'm sorry." He whispered hoarsely. 

"Oh, Johnny." Joanne half-sighed and moved to sit herself on the bed next to him. "I know very well that Dixie's already told you this, but I'm going to try again since I know you're hardheaded. It's not your fault." 

"But don't you see, Joanne, it is! There had to have been something I could do!" Johnny protested, gesturing vaguely with his hands. 

"Like what?" Joanne's voice was quiet, imploring. 

For a long time, the lanky paramedic was silent. He rubbed his hands over his thighs, his face, and together as he tried to think. "I don't know…! Something!" 

"Johnny!" Joanne said, a little crossly, as she shook her head. "You can't think of anything more you could have done because there wasn't anything more. This isn't your fault." 

"I'm so sorry." He bowed his head, watching as he rubbed at his left hand with the fingers of his right. "I'm just….so sorry." 

Joanne reached out and brushed the stray hair away from Johnny's eyes in a gesture that betrayed her as a mother. In many ways, Johnny was like a surrogate child to the DeSotos, even if he was only a few months younger than Roy himself. It was the variation in the two men's temperaments that made the difference- Roy was generally calm and rational where Johnny was passionate and impulsive. Joanne's personal theory was that being a father did that to a man, for Roy certainly had had his share of passionate or impulsive moments before Chris or Jenny were born. 

The young man flinched away from Joanne's hand, intent on the floor. Nothing that she could do or say to him would convince him that this wasn't in some grand way all his fault. He had to turn, eyes squeezed half-shut, and stare at the wall as he felt the urge to cry again. He needed to stop doing that- soon there wouldn't be any tears left. 

Joanne sighed, and rose slowly from the bed. There wasn't anything that she could do for Johnny now. She moved across the room with a steady slowness, and finally made it to Roy's side. This was just what she'd always feared as the wife of a firefighter. Something had happened while he was on the job, and now Roy was laying prone in the hospital bed, alive only by the merit of all the extraneous tubing attached to him. She'd tried to prepare herself for this time, for she knew it would come. But still, it was hard for her to see her husband in such a state. 

She watched the tubes and wires running from him and sighed. She'd thought, just maybe that she'd be the lucky one to slide by and never have to be waiting in the hospital to see if her husband would pull through or die, whether he'd be normal or doomed to spend the rest of what could only technically be called a life plugged into the wall like a freakish toy. She had thought that maybe she'd gotten enough of that through Johnny. 

"Roy.." She said quietly, kneeling down next to him on the floor. "Roy. Honey. It's me. Joanne. I just…wanted you to know that I love you. And whatever happens, I will love you. Whatever decision you make…it's fine with me. Jennifer and Chris love you, too, Roy." Joanne could feel her own tears start to fight her for the right to flow. She couldn't stay much longer- she didn't want to end up crying in front of Dixie and Johnny. They were going through enough as it was. She stood, and bent over to brush a kiss past her husband's lips, her repetition sounding somehow necessary. "I love you, Roy." 

There was no response- just steady, infuriating beeps and a low and steady hum. God, please, don't let him stay like this forever….I…I just want him to come home and do all those little things that frustrate me so much….please… She pulled back from the bed slowly, not removing her eyes from the sight of her husband until it was absolutely necessary. Then, rubbing at her eyes with the bottom of the palms of her hands, she turned to Johnny. "So, what do you say, `Junior'? Join me for a cup of coffee?" 

With a long sigh, Johnny looked up and tried miserably to smile at Joanne. "Yeah….I'm…not going to be great company." 

Joanne nodded, and almost smiled herself. "Neither am I. Let's go anyway." 

~*~~*~~*~ 

Captain Hank Stanley was having, all things considered, a good day. It had been almost a full week and a half since he'd been released from Rampart hospital. Almost a full week and a half since he'd last had to wear that horrid, insubstantial polyester thing they called a hospital gown. Almost a full week and a half that he'd been back at his job and trying desperately to forget the two men of his a-shift that were still in Rampart just enough that he could work without distraction. Sighing, he leaned the back of his swivel chair against his desk and began to stare out the window. 

"Get away from me! Just…get away from me!" John Gage's irritated voice echoed through the apparatus bay, only partially muffled by the sound of the squad's engine. Soon, even that buffer was gone. 

"Well, Gage, if you had done your job right, I wouldn't have this problem! I think you should help me solve it." The heavy bass voice of Johnny's temporary partner, Bill Sadlier, boomed over Johnny's slightly reedy tenor-baritone. 

"Last time I checked, my job involves extricating hurt people from places, treating them, and then taking them to the hospital! Not keeping track of wayward skunks. Get away from me! You're going to get that stink on me! The ride home was bad enough!" Johnny's voice skirted away from the direction that Bill's was coming in. Four seconds later, Cap's nose was assaulted with the potent smell of skunk musk. 

He'd give them a few more moments before intervening- they'd been at each other's throats almost since the moment Johnny'd come back from work. Bill was a domineering sort of person- and he resented being made the junior partner of a team. He was also a very large man, twice as wide as Hank was and almost two full inches taller. Johnny was used to working in a symbiotic relationship, moreover, he was used to working in a smooth-running symbiotic relationship with Roy. He didn't like the way Bill tried to boss him around, and he was already on nerve because DeSoto's condition. "GAGE! Get back over here and help me!" Sadlier roared. Looked like Hank wasn't even going to get a few more minutes. So much for a good day. 

In a few, swift motions, the tall man was out of his office and moving to the apparatus bay. The stench of skunk became more profound, so he didn't need to make up an excuse for barging in on their little spat. "My God, Bill, what is that smell?" He asked, squinting as he neared the burly man. 

Sadlier's bushy eyebrows furrowed as he glared at Johnny, who had pinned himself against the opposite wall of the bay, trying to make an excuse to leave the room. "He wasn't doing his job and let me get sprayed by a skunk." He groused. 

"Hey, now!" Johnny shouted back, separating himself from the wall a little in order to defend himself. "I was in the car taking care of the patient! I wasn't paying attention to you because I don't usually have to save people from a biophone. I figured you're a big boy. You could take care of yourself- it doesn't take a genius to figure out that animals live out in the boons!" 

"Calm down there, John." Stanley soothed, making a stifling motion with one hand. "Would one of you like to tell me what exactly happened?" 

"The last run we went on, it was for a person who'd trapped themselves in their car. Before we could even properly analyze the situation, Gage here rips off the door and crawls into the car to start treatment. So while I am properly chastising him, and he's yelling back at me, he also purposefully neglects to tell me about the skunk that has appeared behind me. I get sprayed, and Gage won't let me into the ambulance or the hospital even though it's his fault." Sadlier grumped sullenly at his temporary Captain, all the while glaring at Johnny. 

"That's not like it was at all!" Johnny was now braving the noxious smell of skunk musk in order to get closer to Sadlier just so his shouts were more effective. He turned to his Captain a little anxiously, half-waving his arms in an attempt to explain himself. "The woman was having a seizure! I could see that from outside the car! So I opened up the car so we could treat her, because I could fit in the car and could see what was happening. Sadlier here starts chewing me out for not following proper procedure or some….crap…like that…" Johnny sneered at the bigger man, modifying the profanity at the last second before it came out of his mouth. "I was yelling at him to contact Rampart and get an authorization for an IV. He finally does it, and while I'm administering the IV and the diazepam, he starts screaming about a skunk. And then I smell that he got sprayed. The woman was seizuring so bad that I figured the skunk musk would be too much. So I told him to drive the squad in." 

Captain Stanley could tell the two men where seconds away from going at each other's throats, and while Gage would put up a valiant fight, Sadlier had a great advantage in his size. Hank decided that he didn't need three men in the hospital. "You two, both, calm down. Sadlier, hit the showers, and get some tomato juice or something to wash that stink off of you. Gage, see me in my office. And I want you two to stop arguing." 

Somehow, Bill thought he'd come out ahead in this deal. Looking distinctly superior, the large man stalked to the latrine in order to take a shower. Johnny looked for all the world like he was going to hiss and claw at the man as he walked past him to follow Cap into his office. 

As soon as the paramedic had shut the door behind them, Captain Stanley turned with exasperation. "What's going on, John? You seem unusually…testy. The only person I've seen set you off this badly was Chet." 

Johnny groaned gutturally and cast a sour glare at the door. "I'd rather work four back-to-back shifts with Chet and Brice than one shift with this guy." Running a quick hand through his dark hair, the young man quickly slid into `complaining for a reason' mode. "I mean, he tries to do the `important' stuff by the book, but then there's all this little chicken-shit stuff that he does wrong. He knows it, I know it. I tell him, and he ignores me. It takes me a good minute longer to find stuff on the runs because he refuses to put the replacement supplies where the originals had been. He assumes because he's bigger he's in charge, and gets all pissy when I try and tell him what to do. As partners, he should be just as willing to give orders as take them. He's a glory hog, and not that great a paramedic to boot! I don't know how he does it! I mean, Roy would never have managed to get himself sprayed by some stupid skunk.." With each word Johnny's voice rose, but at his own mention of DeSoto, he faltered. 

Hank took the opportunity to wave him down. If Bill heard Gage's ranting, that would be the end of it. "I know, I know. But you have to deal with it. The shift ends at eight. Last until then, and you've got two Bill-free days ahead of you." 

Johnny nodded, now mumbling to himself. "Two more nights spent at the Happiest Hospital on Earth." 

Cap sank back down into his chair and sighed. "You know, John, maybe that's part of the problem. Maybe being at the hospital is just stressing you too much. Try staying your two days off at home this time." 

Johnny's dark eyes flashed sharply. "You're not keeping me away from Rampart. This is all my fault- I gotta make it up to them somehow." 

So he was going to go down that road again. "Look, like I said before, it wasn't your fault. And I was there. I should know." 

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Johnny mumbled, but he didn't sound at all convinced. He turned from his Captain for a moment, but then whirled back to face him with a vehemence. He slapped both of his hands down on the surface of Stanley's desk balled in fists, scattering papers in a maelstrom. "I should have seen that damn hole, Cap! I should…" 

"You should have nothing, John. Listen to me. None of your ranting is going to change anything. You've got to do your job- you've got to try to get along with Sadlier. You have to let yourself get enough rest, or eventually you'll make a mistake that will be your fault. When we leave here tonight, I want you to go straight home and spend at least the first day resting. You've been running yourself haggard, and we can't afford having the one good paramedic working A-shift here being so burnt out he can't work right. I'll call Rampart and tell them not to let you in if I have to, Johnny. This is an order. Do you understand?" Hank's tone of voice was one that Johnny's heard all too often- it left no room for the argument it almost invited. He could be a very intimidating man when he wished to be. 

Johnny nodded, suddenly interested in the floor. "Yes, sir." He said quietly. 

"Good," Stanley said as he stood from his desk. "Because you have lunch duty and I'm starved." 

Now Gage managed a smile. "You sure you're up for my masterful cooking?" 

"Just don't burn it and I'll be fine." Cap gave Johnny a solicitous pat on the shoulder as he guided the man out of the office. "What have you got planned, anyways?" 

"Well, it had been tomato soup and tuna salad sandwiches, but I think that's out of the question now." 

Hank Stanley broke into heavy laughter, and startled the other men working in 51s A-shift in the process. 

*** 

Doctor Mike Morton walked into the private room had been granted to Marco Lopez by merit of his firefighter status. The tan Latino smiled up at the doctor as his solace was disturbed, tilting his head to one side. "Have you come to set me free?" 

"Sort of." Morton half-laughed. "I'm here to un-truss you and take off those casts, but you're still going to hang around here for a while. Two broken legs takes a lot of recovery, Marco." 

"Tell me about it." Marco laughed back. "I'm just looking forward to being able to scratch my legs. They itch like terrible." 

"I bet they do." Morton answered, and went about the room preparing what he'd need to cut the casts away. Then, with his prep tray pulled up next him, he began to crank down Marco's legs. "Besides your legs, how are you feeling?" 

"Just fine. I just…itch." Marco sighed. "How's everyone else doing?" 

Morton paused in his preparations and leaned vaguely against the wall. "Well, your Captain is doing very well. You know we released him a while ago. And Roy….well….Roy's still…still in a coma. Doctor Brackett…he's trying to be optimistic, but DeSoto's been out for a while." 

Marco nodded slowly, closing his dark brown eyes momentarily. "Yeah, it is. Do you think he'll be able to work when he comes out of it?" 

Morton shrugged slowly. "It all depends on how much that bar damaged his head. We'll just have to see when he wakes up." 

There was an uneasy moment of silence in the room. Neither man wanted to vocalize the third, least desirable outcome that was possible- neither of them wanted to say that there was a good possibility that Roy wouldn't wake up. He had suffered an extraordinary head injury- the survival rate for such injuries were just about even. A full recovery had an even lower rate. 

"It'd be a shame to lose him." Marco said softly. "He's a great paramedic." 

"Yes." Mike agreed. "One of the best. It would be a shame." He sighed, heavily, and then shook himself out of the semi-daze he'd been in. "So, what do you say we get those casts off?" 

Marco grinned around the pain he was obviously still feeling somewhere. "Sounds great to me." 

~*~~*~~*~ 

John Gage felt like beating his head against a wall repetitively until either his head, or the wall, or maybe even both, broke. He did not like Bill Sadlier- in fact, he'd not liked Sadlier so much that McConnikee had ordered Sadlier to change shifts before there was a serious problem. Somehow, Gage had gotten the impression that McConnikee would have liked to moved him, but since 51s was his actual station, Sadlier was the one that had to be moved. 

Johnny could see himself that he was being difficult, but he honestly felt that he had an excuse for it. His best friend was in a coma for God's sake, and had been for a long time. He had a right to be testy. Sighing, the young man sunk back against the cold wood of his locker. Three weeks. The words echoed hollowly in his mind. Three weeks in that damn ICU. A few more days and they might… 

He slapped himself mentally for the thought that was following the forepart of the sentence. The people at Rampart were doing their best. They weren't going to let Roy just die. The people there could recognize how important he was. 

Johnny wrapped his arms around himself as he leaned against the locker, and was mildly surprised at how many ribs he could feel through his uniform shirt. He'd pretty much lost his once legendary appetite since Roy'd been injured, and as a result, he'd dropped several pounds. As a paramedic, Johnny knew he should be eating, but he didn't feel hungry anymore. In fact, he didn't feel much of anything anymore. Just…irritated and guilty. A small part of him knew what everyone else had been telling him was true. This small part of him knew there wasn't anything he could have done about the accident. It wanted him to get over it, stop feeling sorry for himself, and go back to doing his job like he should be doing it. And that made him irritated. 

The much greater part of him felt guilty. Deathly guilty, and it would not let that guilt be tempered by the other part's irritation. The guilt drowned out all of his other emotions, and left him a bitter and irritable shell. 

The time he didn't spend at work or the hospital he spent at home, staring blankly at the far wall until he fell into a dreamless sleep, still dressed in the clothes he'd arrived in. He didn't watch the TV, he didn't listen to the radio, and he didn't answer the phone. He didn't think that he'd even laughed in three weeks. 

With an action that was well practiced, he half-fell backwards to land, seated, in his locker. He'd be granted a few more moments of peace before Cap, or Dwyer, Chet, or Marco's replacement LaCooke finally entered and disturbed him, forcing him to keep moving about. Mike had started to steer clear of Johnny a week ago. 

Johnny had even stopped joining Joanne and the kids for dinner days ago. There were just too many reminders of what had happened hidden within the house's walls. Jennifer looked altogether too much like her father, and it pained Johnny to see Roy's eyes shining out of her little, cherub face. 

"John?" The voice echoed in the nearly empty locker room, and the dark-haired paramedic grimaced. It was Stoker, which meant it was probably serious and the man wouldn't leave him be about it. For a few seconds, Johnny considered pulling his legs into his locker and slamming the door shut. But Mike was a bright man, and although he was quiet, he could be outgoing; he'd have no scruples about opening the locker door. So instead Johnny just waited while the tall engineer entered the room and moved before Gage's locker. "Cap said I should talk to you." 

"There isn't much to talk about." Johnny said quietly, and bowed his head into his hands. 

"He didn't say to talk with you. He said to talk to you." Mike answered equally quietly. "He…he thinks that…you should hear about an experience I had." 

Johnny looked up slowly, one eyebrow slightly above the other. "What?" 

"Just listen, John." Mike said, and he sat gradually on the bench in front of Gage. His bright blue eyes were turned towards the ground as he spoke. "It happened…when I was younger. Just before I joined the Fire Department. I…was…in love. She was a wonderful girl…dark and sculptured. We were engaged and she…" Mike paused and ran a hand over his face. 

"She was pregnant. We were driving on the 405…it was dark, late at night. I was driving us back from a party." Mike's voice got lower and lower as he spoke, and Johnny found himself leaning forward to hear. "I hadn't been drinking, but I was a little tired. I…I lost control of the car." There, the engineer paused, staring intently on the floor. He swallowed heavily, and although he wasn't making any noise, Johnny was sure that Mike was crying. When he finally spoke again, his voice cracked. "We…we slammed into a pylon supporting an overpass. She didn't survive the crash." 

Johnny nearly fell out of his locker. "Oh….My God….Mike…!" Was all he could manage. 

Mike's head came up fairly quickly, and he blinked the tears away from his eyes with jerky flicks of his eyelids. "Now, Johnny. Listen to me. For the longest time, I thought that Rachel's death was my fault. I thought…that I had killed her…and our child…But then the police told me that they'd examined the car. The drive shaft was faulty, and it was due to blow at any time. When it did, I lost any way of controlling the car. There was nothing I could have done to prevent the accident." Mike nodded slowly, expression distant. "It was then that I realized that it hadn't been my fault. I never stopped grieving for Rachel, but I stopped blaming myself. It was one of those nasty things life gives you for a `joke'. I…my life was a lot easier since I came to that realization. I'd been missing out on a lot of living while I was feeling so guilty." 

He sighed again, and finally focused on Johnny. "So I guess what I'm saying is, I know how the guilt is eating at you, and taking away all the other feelings. But one day, Johnny, you just got to let it go." 

Johnny shook his head slowly. "I…I don't know how you dealt with it, Mike. You seem so…happy now." 

Stoker stood to leave, and smiled slowly. "I joined the Fire Department. I swore to myself that I would do everything possible to prevent ever having to watch someone die like that again." And with that, the lanky man exited the locker room. 

Johnny bowed his head slowly back into his hands once Mike had left, the words still echoing in his mind. But one day, Johnny, you just got to let it go. 

*** 

Pain. From just under his eye to just over his ear- arcing, searing and constant pain. It felt as if someone had driven a spike through his head, and was now trying, with all earnesty and the strength of twenty Hercules', to pry his skull apart. He'd never encountered such pain before, and hoped to God and whatever other powers that be that he'd never have to encounter it again. 

Where was he? What had happened? The pain clouded his thoughts, and it took a few panicked moments for him to even realize who he was. Roy DeSoto. Paramedic, Los Angeles County. Station Fifty-One. Now that his identity was settled, he began to mull over the problem of his location slowly in his mind. 

Normally, he would have simply opened his eyes, but the pain in his head was so great that it persuaded him not to do that. So, he was forced to instead use his other four senses. The smell of the air around him- stringently clean with minute traces of blood and smoke, combined with the steady sound of a high-pitched beep finally lead him to the conclusion that he was in a hospital. What was that one hospital they took runs to called again? Oh, yes, Rampart. That was probably where he was. 

Now why was he at Rampart? Roy went through his most recent memories, but the process was slow, broken, and only made his head hurt more. The last thing he could manage to remember was a vague recollection of the tones calling them out to a canyon, and pulling the squad out of the Station. But that memory really could have come from anywhere, and he realized that he really had no idea why he was in a hospital. 

What about his partner? He….Johnny… was always getting hurt. That must be it. He must be waiting for Johnny to get better from something. That didn't explain why he had a headache, or why he was laying down, but it was the only logic he could produce right now that agreed to flow at all. 

Suddenly, now satisfied that the crisis was over, he was exhausted. Without ever opening his eyes or breaking the rhythmic pattern of his breathing, Roy DeSoto faded out of his coma and into a deep, but normal sleep pattern. 

*** 

Mike Stoker hovered over the front paneling of the Ward LaFrance, leaning into his polishing to try and take his mind off of everything else it was inclined to wonder about. The talk that Cap had asked him to have with Gage had dredged up a lot of old, buried feelings that he would have been perfectly happy to leave that way- buried. But, Captain Stanley, who'd heard the story long before, felt that it was pertinent for Gage to hear it. So, swallowing his own misgivings, Mike had gone to Johnny and told him the much-abbreviated version of that night. Unfortunately, it wasn't the abbreviated version that insisted on replaying itself over and over in his mind. 

The young fireman paused in his polishing long enough to notice how well salt-water solution dulled a good shine, and wiped at the eyes with the back of his hand. That just got the polish in his eyes, and as a result Mike cursed softly. 

"Whoa, Stoker! You can actually produce obscenities." Chester B. Kelly was one of the last people that Mike really needed to see right now. Johnny was right about the stocky Irishman- he did have a naturally irritating persona. Generally speaking, that didn't bother Mike all that much. But right now, he just couldn't deal with it. Especially since he knew how Chet would react if he knew that Mike was crying. 

"Chet just…go away." He said, a bit more tritely than he'd meant, without turning from the engine. After another moment's pause, he went back to circling the rag in diligent, precise circles. 

He could see Chet's moustache droop as he frowned in the engine's shining side. "Man, Mikey, you've been spending too much time around Gage…" He started. 

"I mean it, Kelly. Leave me alone. And don't call me Mikey." Mike cut Chet's sentence off with a low growl. 

Chet's eyes grew wide, surprised at how he'd elicited such a vehement reaction from Stoker. "Hey, Mike, man, easy there!" He waved his hands protectively in front of his chest. "I..whatever it was, I didn't meant it! 

"Go away." Mike said a third time, finally turning to face Chet. The other fireman started at the sight of tears on the engineer's face, and took a step back. He managed to mouth the words `I'm sorry' as he backed away, paused, then turned and left the apparatus bay. 

Slowly, Mike turned back to the engine. Rachel had called him `Mikey', and he normally had a problem when Chet called him that. But with that whole incident so recently remembered, the sound of the word re-opened jagged-edged wounds he'd suffered long ago. The flash of pain and anger he'd felt was blinding, and only years of practiced silence kept him from striking Chet with a closed fist and thunderous words. 

He was reverting to old, dead ways of his behavior, ways he'd tried hard forget. He was beginning to wish that Cap hadn't asked him to tell the story to Johnny- it was effecting him much more than he'd expected it to. But, what was done was done, he couldn't change that or force himself to stop thinking about Rachel. Staring at the front panel for a long moment, Mike decided that he needed to move before he actually damaged the metal with too much polish. 

Moving to the opposite side of the Ward's front end, Mike could see John Gage reflected in the already shining engine. He knew that the paramedic probably wanted to talk, but he didn't feel like starting the conversation. 

"Mike?" Johnny finally asked, after a few moments of watching Mike polish the engine's side. 

"Yeah?" Mike asked, flatly, only glancing at the other man. 

"I want to thank you for telling me that story. I…I think that it really put things into perspective for me." Johnny spoke softly, with his head bowed. "I appreciate how hard it must have been for you to bring it up again." 

"Yeah, it was." Mike stopped polishing for a second, and smiled a little bitterly. "But I guess it'll be for the better in the end. Everything happens for a reason, hunh?" 

"I suppose so." Johnny said darkly, and pushed a bit of hair away from his eyes. "I just don't understand any of it." 

"Neither do I." Mike sighed. "But I'm glad to have helped." 

Johnny nodded, and with that, he walked away. For a while, Mike continued to mindlessly polish the engine. Sometimes, life just couldn't be understood. 

*** 

It was getting to be routine- every day for three weeks now Dixie McCall, herself, had gone into that ICU to attend to Roy. Every day for three weeks she talked to him with no response, tended to him carefully without ever hearing him speak or feeling him stir. Rushing the door open, she sighed at the man laying on the ICU bed. Soon, she'd have to call Joanne and ask her the `standard question.' Dixie didn't want to pull the plug on any patient, least of all someone like Roy. "Oh, Roy." She said softly, chidingly. "You'd better wake up soon, or we're all going to forget what your voice sounds like." 

Dixie's heart threw itself wildly against her ribs as Roy's eyes slid slowly open, and her turned his head against the restraints of the respirator. His eyes held recognition of her face and voice, but also mild panic. Half-consciously, Dixie was grateful that Roy was a paramedic- she'd had patients choke when they awoke with an artificial airway inserted. Roy, however, seemed to be able to deal with the hard plastic tube that ran down his throat and into his lungs. 

Smiling from ear to ear, Dixie moved to the side of Roy's bed. "You're awake! Now, Roy, I need you to stay calm and listen to me. You've been out a long time- obviously you've been on a respirator. I'm going to get Kel, and he'll take you off of the respirator, okay? You just relax." 

Roy nodded slowly, watching Dixie as she moved around the room. It was good for Dixie to see those bright flashed of blue moving in DeSoto's face again, and she was sure that the others would be thrilled, as well. She hurried to the ICU's phone under Roy's scrutiny, and picked it up. "Doctor Brackett to ICU two stat, please." 

Seconds later, the page echoed through the halls. Doctor Brackett to ICU two stat, Doctor Brackett to ICU two stat. Roy rolled his eyes upward, and then glanced back to Dixie. "Yeah, that's us. If I know Kel, he'll hurry here." The head nurse affirmed. Roy tried to smile around the airway tube. "I have to tell you, Mr. DeSoto, that you've had a lot of people worried for a very long time. You'd think that the entire LA County Fire Department absolutely needed you to operate." 

The paramedic did his best to shrug this time, and did look very amused. Dixie smiled softly, and moved to half-sit on the edge of Roy's bed. "Oh, now, don't pretend to be all modest. You know as well as I do that you've done a whole lot to get this paramedic program off the ground." 

It was about that time that Kelly Brackett stormed into the room, his eyebrows matching zags of concern. "What's the problem, Dixie?" He asked, looking his nurse and his patient over carefully. It took him a few seconds to realize what was going on. And then it only took him a few more seconds to dart to the ICU side. "Roy…!" Professionally, he analyzed the situation, his sharp mind making decisions at lightening speed. "All right, Roy, here's what's going to happen. I don't want to risk knocking you out again, so we're going to have to remove that airway while you're still awake. It's going to hurt like hell, but if we put you on sedatives I'm afraid you'll slip back into a coma before we can examine you. Nod your head if that sounds good." 

Roy nodded smallishly, looking a little worriedly between Dixie and Brackett. With a grim smile, the doctor began to work. He tilted Roy's head back so that the paramedic's throat was as straight as it could be made. "Dix, I want you to be ready when I get the airway out- he's going to cough." Dixie nodded slowly, putting a hand on Roy's shoulder. Brackett held Roy's head under the chin, and began to pull the airway out gradually, with a steady motion. 

Brackett's prediction had been right- as soon as the tube was clear of Roy's mouth, the man went into a wracking set of spasmic coughs. Dixie helped him to struggle upright, and lay a gentle hand on his back as Roy got his lungs back under control. 

Then, Kel straightened, crossing his arms and looking down at the paramedic with a very official looking expression. "So, Roy, how do you feel?" 

Roy swallowed a few times, each time making a different face, and then finally managed to speak. His voice was hoarse and whispery, it was hard for him to make himself heard. "I have a headache. What happened?" 

Brackett smiled. So far, it looked good. Roy was responding normally, and both eyes appeared to be working properly. "The last run that you and John went on together was a response to one of the canyons. It was raining very hard. Do you remember that?" 

Roy closed his eyes, thinking, for a moment, and then nodded slightly. "Yeah. Marco'd broken his leg. But how does that get me here?" 

"The road out of the canyon'd been washed out. Because of the rain, Johnny couldn't stop the squad, so it rolled into the hole. Marco broke his other leg, and you…you got a piece of the squad's doorframe through your head. It was pretty serious, you've been in a coma for three weeks now." Brackett explained to Roy. 

The man shook his head slowly, blue eyes wide as the reality of `three weeks' sunk in. "Everyone must be so worried….poor Jo…Chris, Jenny…Johnny…" 

"Yes, they are worried." Dixie interjected softly. "But we're going to call them all and let them know that you're okay." 

"We are going to ask that you stay for some serious testing, though, Roy." Brackett added firmly, crossing his arms in an authoritative gesture. 

"Of course." Roy rasped, and smiled a little. "It's not like I have much of a choice." 

Both the doctor and the nurse laughed- Roy hadn't changed at all, and that was the best news they could be able to deliver. 

*** 

Johnny sat in his Land Rover, staring emptily at the steering wheel. His fingertips brushed across the false leather steering wheel cover as he searched within himself for an answer. He didn't know where to go- after Roy'd been injured he'd just felt progressively more hollow. But Stoker was right, he did need to move on eventually. Even he was getting sick of the massive self pity parties. With a sigh, Gage reached out and flipped the radio on. The guitar riff that followed was almost Spanish-sounding, and soulful. 

All the leaves are brown 

And the sky is gray…. 

Looking out of the Rover, Johnny smirked a little. The leaves certainly were brown, and the sky hadn't been very clear for almost ten days. 

I'd be safe and warm… 

If I was in L.A… 

He suppressed the urge to click the radio off only by gripping the steering wheel. That was a load of crock. No body was safe and warm in L.A. L.A. was quickly becoming John's least favorite place to be. With another sigh, he came to the conclusion that he'd have to decide to go somewhere. He was wasting gas, and right now that wasn't the most intelligent of things to be doing. 

He might as well go to Rampart- there wasn't anything for him at home, and he hadn't checked in on Roy in a good thirty hours at least. The song on the radio continued, punctuating the silence of the ride over with its flowing melody. 

And I pretend to pray 

You know the preacher likes the cold 

He knows I'm gonna stay 

California dreamin' 

On such a winter's day 

The words then gave way to a flute middle eight, and Johnny's attention wandered away from the radio again. Again, his mind was brought to wonder what he would do if Roy never woke up from his coma. He couldn't go on working as a paramedic with what he saw as temporary partners for much longer- he wasn't even sure he could deal with being in the Department much longer. But deep inside him, he loved being a fireman so much, he knew that he couldn't bring himself to do anything else. 

Maybe he could move to a different state, back to Montana or even out to the East Coast. There, he could start over as a simple and unpretentious hosejockey, and try to forget the terrors of the accident. And forget the years of a good working partnership and amicable station shift that had many more ups than downs? No, that wasn't going to work. 

He was at Rampart almost before he realized he'd completed the drive. Automatically, he backed the Rover into the spot next to the ambulance in the Emergency lot, but then after a moment of thought and a mental slap, he drove half-way around the building to park in the public parking lot like everyone else did. 

After entering at Rampart's large main entrance, Johnny took the first elevator he found directly to the first floor ER. As the doors slid open, he found himself confronted with the sight of Brackett, Dixie, and Joanne DeSoto collected in a small huddle near Dixie's base station. Oh, God, no, they've pulled her in for `The Question'. He thought, and for a moment considered retreating back into the elevator. But Dixie happened to look up at just the right time, saw him, and motioned him out of the lift. "Johnny! Come here…" 

With a sigh, the dark-haired man shuffled out of the elevator and joined the small group of people next to the base station. "Hi." He managed softly. 

"So." Brackett continued with the conversation that'd been started, nodded to acknowledge Johnny's presence. "I kind of…need a decision, Joanne. What do you say?" 

Joanne closed her eyes for a moment, and ran a hand through her short hair. Then, after what seemed to be altogether too little deliberation, she nodded. "Yeah. I think we should do it." 

Johnny felt himself choke on his own breath as he heard Joanne speak, realizing belatedly that the noise would attract unwanted attention. When the three pairs of confused eyes focused on him, the shocked and now somewhat angry paramedic found his voice. "How can you do that, Joanne? Roy's still got a chance! You can't take that away from him! What about Jennifer and Christopher? How are they going to deal with living without a father. At this age, Jenny'll be lucky if she remembers him into adulthood! You're not the only one who this effects- aren't you going to even think about it?!" 

"What are you talking about, Gage?" Brackett asked with irritation, furrowing his eyebrows together into one giant, squiggled line. 

"Unplugging Roy to let him die like some….sick dog!" Johnny half-growled back, throwing up his hands in exasperation. He couldn't believe that they were all being so incredibly callous about this. 

The three other people exchanged a significant look, and Dixie leaned forward a little, her voice hushed. "Johnny? Didn't the boys at the Station tell you…?" 

No…no..no.nononono "NO!" Johnny said the last, most forceful `no' out loud, backing away from the group hastily. "No…this…this can't…!" 

"Shhh, Johnny, Shh!" Joanne soothed, holding her hands out to him. "Easy. Roy's awake. He's fine." 

He froze, his vision tunneling oddly on the woman before him. Her heart-shaped face was so worn and haggard looking, but her eyes were filled with such hope- such a desire to be believed. But Johnny knew better than to trust his ears the first time around. His heart was very likely to distort something undesirable to make it fit what he wanted to hear. "What?" He asked, voice low and dark. 

"Roy came out of the coma this afternoon. We called the Station just after we called Joanne. We assumed the guys there would have told you. It looks like Roy's going to be okay." Dixie said, slowly, watching Johnny. 

"He's okay." John's dark eyes snapped to the nurse's face. 

"Yes." All three said in unison. Brackett raised a slow eyebrow at the jump and repetitive paramedic. 

For a long moment, he just stood there. And then, overcome with the sudden end to all his grief and the resurgence of a powerful guilt, John Gage simply crumpled out of consciousness from where he stood in the hallway of Rampart's ER. 

~*~~*~~*~ 

Roy DeSoto ran his fingers down the side of his locker door and smiled. It was odd how someone got so attached to the little things. Throughout all the weeks of rehabilitation and therapy, all he wanted to do when he got frustrated or discouraged was to go back to work, and feel the cool wood of his locker underneath his fingertips again. He wanted to sit in the squad's driver's seat again, to be aggravated by squeaky day room door and to wallow in Marco's chili. 

He raised his head a little as he heard the other men of the A-shift shuffled about in the day room. A few seconds later, as if almost on cue, Johnny's voice echoed into the locker room. "Hey, Roy! Are ya comin' or what?" 

"Yeah, Johnny, be right there." Roy called back absently. It felt so much better to be back. Tapping his locker affectionately, he closed it and stepped over the bench in the locker room. He paused once more inside the door before slowly beginning to grin and starting across the apparatus bay to the day room. 

As Roy stepped into the day room for the first time in month, it exploded into sound. One of the paper noise makers the kind of which he'd bought a hundred times for his kids' parties unfurled in his face, its brackish noise rattling in his ears. There were a few balloons scattered across the room, and the other five men wore those stupid cardboard party hats that Roy'd also had to buy for his children. And Johnny was grinning like the resident idiot, standing in front of the refrigerator almost protectively. "Aw, you guys shouldn't have…" Roy started to say. 

"Ah..!" Captain Stanley held up one finger, smiling. "Don't you even think about protesting." Seeing Roy's sort of half-bemused, and half-distressed expression, Hank's grin broadened. "If it helps, think of this as something to…commemorate the end of Johnny's whining about the incompetence of all the new recruits to the paramedic program." 

Roy slowly crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at his partner. Johnny shrugged innocently. "Can I help it that none of them realize, as you do, that I'm simply a sheer genius." 

"Anyways…" Stanley shot Gage an almost irritated look, also raising his distinct eyebrow at the paramedic. "We'd better get this over with before we get a call. Since we're all so glad you're back in commission, we kinda had the bakery whip something up for ya." With that statement, the tall man nodded at Johnny, who turned and opened up the fridge. 

The young man produced a large, single-layer sheet cake. It was frosted with white butter-cream frosting, and sported the picture of a cartoon-man driving a rescue squad across the cake face. Above it, in bold red letters, were `Welcome Back, ROY!'. Johnny, obviously very proud of himself, set the cake on the table, and took a step back, beaming. Roy had to fight valiantly not to laugh at his partner's kindergartner appearance. "I see you got my name right this time." Johnny's following expression elicited a laugh from the rest of the A-Shift. 

Mike Stoker appeared at Roy's right side, offering him a long, dull knife. "Since it's your cake…" 

Roy blinked slowly, then grinned and took the knife from Mike. "Oh. Okay." Upon being cut, the cake revealed itself to be dark chocolate. Roy's grin grew. 

Soon, everyone had a piece of cake and was eating in contented half-silence, punctuated by an occasional `Close your mouth, Gage.' or `Chew quietly, Kelly.' from the Captain. Roy had almost finished his piece of the cae when the klaxons sounded. Station 51, structure fire, 1452 North Hatford Street, 1-4-5-2 North Hatford, cross street Lexington, time out 09:28. 

The sandy haired paramedic smiled broadly to himself as he set his plate down and slid across the day room in the ingrained hurry to get to the squad. He was home- and it was good. 

~*~~*~~*~ 

The End 

Author's Note: I'd just like to say now something I probably should have said at the beginning of the story. I, personally, have no real experience or background in the medical field. Any technical inaccuracies I have tried to correct, but I apologize to any of you who may actually know what you're doing, if you've found a discrepancy. It would probably be prudent for me to add, here, that none of these characters are actually mine. Standard disclaimer, you know. I'd love to claim them (and if for some reason their Creator no longer wants them, I'd make a great adoptive Mom….) but I can't. I just borrowed them, and now I'll put them back as good as new. Promise. 

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